


listen to them sing

by livingincolors



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pining, Pining Harry, Post-War, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-25
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-26 08:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingincolors/pseuds/livingincolors
Summary: "The birds of hope are everywhere, listen to them sing." Terri Guillemots.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	listen to them sing

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [headcanon](https://livingincolorsagain.tumblr.com/post/633064465759354880/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-this-headcanon-that) I posted last year. There also might be a followup fluffy piece.

If there's someone who understands the quietness, it's Harry. After all, being quiet was essential for surviving when living with the Dursleys. It was a quiet house, the smallest sound was always heard and never unpunished.

But, this is a different kind of quietness. This quietness heavily carries the weight of Fred's absence, his mischievous laughter and loud nature. This quietness carries the muffled sobs of a broken family.

 _It's not your fault_ , Hermione says exasperatedly, her eyes swollen and red. Ron looks at him emptily, head tilted, as if telling him, _really? You still think this is about you?_ Harry waits with bated breath for Ron's anger, his justified decision to not want Harry in his life anymore, because Harry brings pain to everything and everyone he touches and there's no one he touches more than Ron, his best mate, his first friend.

But Ron never says the words, never says anything. Nothing that matters, not really. He doesn't smile, he doesn't cry. He wears his face neurally, his lively blue eyes dull. Hermione eyes him warily, fearfully watching him. _Denial_ , she whispers, her hand tight around Harry's wrist, fingernails digging into his skin, and it's pot calling the kettle black, because she's yet to mention her parents, to acknowledge the fact she might never find them, that they might never forgive her if she does.

Harry watches Ron too, first because he doesn't know where else to look and then because he can't look away. Ron's helping everyone, quiet in his actions, he's everyone's rock, solid no matter what. He looks beyond his years, his youthful face not matching the worn look in his eyes, a look of a man who has seen too much before he was even a man.

So Harry watches, staying close, wanting to be there when Ron needs him or at least when he needs to tell him to leave and never come back. But all Ron says to him is _good morning_ and _goodnight_ and _food's ready_ , and Harry yearns for something he doesn't quite understand yet. He yearns as he watches Ron laying on the grass, staring at the sky, the Sun making his hair glow. His skin is always pink and a bit raw after, but he never complains, not even at the disapproving look his mother gives him as she rubs her special soothing gel on his face with such tenderness Harry actually wonders if the look is only a weak attempt at normality. He yearns as he watches Ron lie in bed in the moonlight, unmoving for hours on end, quiet until he falls into an uneasy sleep, always interrupted by a nightmare, his or someone else's.

The way his heart twists and jumps in his chest every time he looks at Ron scares him, so he looks away. For a moment. He looks at everyone else and the guilt eats away at him, because everyone is hurting. Something's forever lost, the very foundation of a family it seems. It scares Harry, more than anything, the thought that they might never be happy again. That all the pain and the fighting might've been for nothing. That winning a war is never really a win, because there are no winners in war.

It's a bright Summer day, the slightly open window carries the morning breeze and chirping of the birds inside to the quiet room Harry shares with Ron. For a second, it feels peaceful. But the feeling is fleeting, disturbed by the sight of Ron's empty bed. The peacefulness evaporates as if it was never there as Harry pushes the covers away and jumps off the bed, heart in his throat.

It's an irrational fear that grabs his insides, twisting them into a tight knot.

He goes searching for Ron without wiping the sleep out of his eyes, barely remembering to grab his glasses. He climbs down the steps slowly and deliberately, wand in hand, ready to attack as he strains his ears for any unusual noise. He's almost at the bottom when he hears a muted sound, like someone's singing.

His breathing slows down, the tight hold on his wand relaxes a bit. This doesn't sound like a cry for help. He follows the sound. The closer he gets, the louder and clearer it becomes, and he stops for a second and listens.

It's not a song he has heard before, he doesn't recognise the tone, most of the lyrics are unclear and it sounds haunting, but the voice, it's beautiful, and he follows it.

It takes him to the kitchen where he stops at the door, and his mouth freezes open before he can say a word.

It's Ron. It's Ron's voice. Ron's singing.

He's drying the dishes by hand, his back to Harry, lost to the world as he sings this unknown song.

Something deep, deep inside Harry breaks. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't even feel bad. It's like his heart's lighter now, and his lungs can finally expand normally, like the cage around them is gone.

Hope.

Because Ron looks... lighter. Even if it's only for a few minutes, the weight of the world doesn't seem to be resting on his shoulders. He's here, alone, singing and suddenly it's Harry's favourite sound in the whole world.

Ron turns before Harry announces his presence and he cuts himself mid-word with a sharp gasp, almost dropping the cup in his hand. He stares at Harry, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Er... good morning," he says, turning back around and putting the cup and towel down, an obvious shake in his voice and hands,

Harry clears his throat, feeling as if he's just witness something he shouldn't have. "M-morning, er," he looks around, "where's everyone?"

Ron shrugs, then says, "Mum and Dad are out. Ginny's sleeping. George's... in his room,"

"Oh," he drops into the chair, looking at Ron's tense back, testing the words before saying them. "Your voice-"

"I was washing the dishes, Mum's been working so hard, reckoned she needs a break,"

It's the most Ron's said in months and Harry smiles despite himself. Some things never change.

"Yeah, she was," is all he says in reply, and when Ron turns his head a bit and gives him a grateful look and offers to make tea, Harry's chest expands with hopefulness, again. 

They can be happy again.

It won't be easy. Nothing in this life ever is. Ron still doesn't talk (he drinks his tea in silence, meeting Harry's eyes every few minutes) but he will. The nightmares won't stop, not anytime soon, maybe not ever. But, maybe someday they'll be less frequent. Less violent.

One day, Hermione'll find her parents and they'll forgive her.

One day, looking at Fred's smiling face in the hanging frame won't feel like a dragger to the heart; holding Teddy won't make his heart twist in his chest painfully.

One day, Ron won't stop singing when he sees Harry's there.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr.](https://livingincolorsagain.tumblr.com)


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